United
by Zathara001
Summary: "Should you be drinking a beer when you're on painkillers?" Jacob confronts Eliot about the events of "Discord." (Part 4 of the Brothers-verse; parts 1, 2, and 3 are "Estranged," "Brotherhood," and "Discord," respectively.)


DISCLAIMER: I own nothing to do with the Librarians or Leverage, sadly. If Dean Devlin or anyone who does own them wants anything of this, it's theirs.

"Should you be drinking a beer when you're on painkillers?" Jacob confronts Eliot about the events of "Discord."

 **L ~ L ~ L ~ L ~ L**

In the aftermath of Jones' explanation of the events at the Conclave, Jacob Stone wasn't sure how to feel.

Bad enough that Lamia had tried to convince the assembly to do away with the Library and its Librarians, but on top of that, Eliot - _Eliot_ \- had shown up and not only shut her down but also claimed leadership of the house of Benwick. The house of Benwick was, according to Jenkins, Dulaque's family house, and that meant that Eliot was now the leader of the Serpent Brotherhood.

Eve's anger, however, was exactly what he'd expected, right down to her determination to go chew Eliot out for breaking their agreement. She was halfway to the door when Ezekiel asked if there was a chance Parker would be there, too, and then the others, even Jenkins, had decided to go with her. Jacob found himself anticipating the meeting - so much so that he decided not to warn Eliot they were coming.

It would be worth his twin's anger just to see his expression when they descended on the brewpub en masse.

#

For once, Eliot Spencer wasn't in the brewpub's kitchen as the dinner hour approached. He'd come in fully intending to get started on the prep work, but Amy directed him to a stool at the bar.

"You don't get to work tonight," she told him, setting a bottle of his favorite local beer in front of him.

"Keeping the executive chef from the kitchen's bad protocol," Eliot reminded her.

"Take it up with Hardison," Amy shot back. "He said you're not to go into the kitchen, and he's the boss."

"Not my boss."

" _My_ boss." Amy's tone indicated that was the end of the matter, and Eliot let himself be persuaded.

It wasn't that he couldn't handle his kitchen duties - the cut on his left arm had been neatly stitched, and he'd certainly done harder tasks with worse injuries - but his unplanned visit to the Annex had reminded him he had more things than just the brewpub and Leverage, Inc., to deal with now.

He'd dropped one of those things - Lamia - off at the Hilton on his way to the brewpub, with the casual observation that she might want to think twice before making an enemy of him. That would keep her quiet for the moment, Eliot thought, at least until she ran a background check on him and found out what tended to happen to his enemies. Then she'd either make peace with him or betray him the way she'd betrayed Dulaque. He'd be prepared for either eventuality when it came.

In the meantime, though, he had to tell his twin what he'd done.

He'd been putting off calling Jake since he'd killed Dulaque, and Eliot was honest enough to admit, if only to himself, that he was afraid of what his twin's reaction might be. Eliot knew Jake didn't agree with the decision to defer to the head Librarian's judgment, but that didn't mean Jake would approve of Eliot taking over the Serpent Brotherhood on his own.

 _Stop putting it off_. Eliot pulled his phone from his pocket, thumbed the contacts. Before he could touch the J for Jake, a voice interrupted him.

"Should you be drinking a beer when you're on painkillers?"

 _Guess I don't have to call Jake after all._ Eliot turned to see his twin standing just inside the door to the brewpub and cursed his inattentiveness, more so when he saw the five other people gathered behind him. He recognized Colonel Baird, Jenkins, and the man who'd been the Arbiter of the Conclave, but the redheaded woman and the dark-haired man in the linen suit were strangers to him.

 _Good way to get yourself dead._ But they were with Jake, so they were probably friendly.

That analysis completed in an instant, Eliot deliberately took a swallow of beer before saying, "You assume I'm taking painkillers."

"You have stitches, so you have an injury, so you have pain. Therefore, painkillers."

"Caught a knife with my arm. I've had worse." But now that the painkillers he'd gotten in the hospital were starting to wear off, Eliot was aware of the wound again. He focused past the pain, on Jake's companions. "Good to see you again, Colonel, Mr. Jenkins."

"We need to talk," Jake said, his tone firm.

"We do," Eliot agreed. "Doesn't mean we can't be polite about it."

It also didn't mean they needed to talk in public - or at least not so much public. Eliot nodded toward a round table in a back corner. "There. Amy'll get your drinks."

Eliot stood and started toward the table he'd indicated, detouring into the kitchen just long enough to request an order of each of the appetizers on the menu.

He was still the first to arrive at the table and chose a seat off center where he could see the front entrance and still have room to move quickly if he had to. He didn't expect trouble at the brewpub, but that didn't mean trouble wouldn't come looking for him or his. He wouldn't be caught unaware if it did.

It wasn't much of a surprise when Colonel Baird took a seat next to him, but it was a surprise when Jenkins took the seat on his other side. Eliot glanced at him, noting the other man's survey of the room - identical to the one Baird had given it. Was he retired military, perhaps?

Then the others were approaching with their own drinks and Eliot summoned his friendliest smile, offered his hand to the redheaded woman.

"Eliot Spencer."

She gave him a shy smile back, awkwardly shifting her drink to her left hand before shaking his. "Cassandra Cillian."

The name tickled in his memory - this was the one Jake didn't trust. Eliot filed that away, with a, "Pleasure's mine."

Then he turned to the man in the linen suit.

"Flynn Carsen," the man said, giving Eliot's hand a firm, if perfunctory, grip.

"Head Librarian," Eliot acknowledged.

"No, _the_ Librarian," Carsen corrected.

Eliot caught the disappointment that flicked across Cassandra's face, the anger that flashed in Jake's eyes, but he kept his own down-home mask in place. For now. "My mistake."

Then the young Asian man who'd been the Arbiter approached. He had a glass of a dark brew in his hand and an almost reverent expression.

"They have a beer called Thief Juice," he said. "Like it was made for me."

Eliot started to say something, warn him maybe, but Jake was looking a little too interested, so all he said was, "I didn't catch your name at the Conclave."

"Ezekiel Jones," the man said, then sat down with the others and took a swallow.

His anticipatory expression quickly turned to shock followed by revulsion. "What _is_ that?"

"A mouth crime," Eliot replied. "Just like it says on the menu."

Jones looked like he wanted to argue more, but Carsen was leaning forward. "Mind explaining to the class what you were doing at the Conclave?"

Eliot glanced at his twin, unsure where to start. Jake blew out a breath. "I'll start," he said.

#

It wasn't a long tale, really - Jacob told it as succinctly as he could.

"A couple of weeks ago, I got an invitation to a party," he began. "A gathering of art historians, hosted by someone with ties to the Serpent Brotherhood. We thought it might be a trap, so I asked Eliot to go instead."

"Why?" Cassandra asked. "I mean, I get substituting one for the other, but why?"

Eliot smiled. "I'm good at getting out of traps. This one turned out to be more of a honey trap."

"Lamia was there," Jacob clarified. "And she offered me the leadership of the Serpent Brotherhood."

Flynn stared at him "What? She did what? No, she's loyal to Dulaque, always has been."

"Until she figured out he was going to kill her," Eliot observed.

"We talked it over, Stone and Jenkins and me," Baird put in before Flynn could speak again. "And decided not to take that offer."

"And a few days later, she showed up here," Eliot concluded. "Offered it to me."

"You said she asked you to kill Dulaque?" Ezekiel said.

"Yeah." Eliot focused on Jacob. "He was harder than that empusa a couple months ago."

Into the pause after Eliot's words, one of the servers - Jacob remembered her from his previous visits to the brewpub, thought her name was Amy - arrived with a tray laden with appetizers, and Eliot's tale was delayed as Jacob, no less than the others, served himself.

"That was Jake's decision, not to go for it," Eliot said then, addressing the whole group as much as Flynn. "I didn't agree with it, but I respected it. But when she made me the same offer, I took it."

Then Eliot looked up at him, and Jacob thought he could see regret in his twin's expression, despite Eliot's control.

"Been wanting to call you," Eliot said. "See if you have any ideas on what to do with it."

The anger that had been simmering since he'd learned of Eliot's actions dissipated like steam, and Jacob found himself without words even as he contemplated the reality that the Serpent Brotherhood was no longer a threat.

"You knew what to do with it at the Conclave." Ezekiel's observation broke into Jacob's thoughts.

"That wasn't about the Brotherhood," Eliot said. "I found out Lamia was in town - and specifically heading to the Annex. She betrayed Dulaque, I figured she was gonna betray me."

"How?" Flynn asked.

"I didn't know - I'm still new to the magic thing," Eliot added. "So I got to the Annex as fast as I could, listened long enough to figure out her play, and then stepped in."

"And I am glad you did, Mr. Spencer," Jenkins declared. "She was close to persuading the others that the Library had outlived its usefulness."

"Where's Lamia now?" Baird asked.

"Still in Portland," Eliot answered.

"You're sure?" Jacob couldn't help asking.

"Pretty sure. Hardison's keeping an eye on her."

"Who's Hardison?" Cassandra asked.

Eliot hesitated only a moment before answering, "A friend. He's good with computers and cameras."

"So's Ezekiel," Cassandra said.

"Are you?" Eliot asked politely.

"Yeah," Ezekiel answered.

"And while we're all impressed by your skills," Flynn broke in, "the point remains. We have ourselves a Serpent Brotherhood. What are we going to do with it?"

"I've had an inventory done of the artifacts in their headquarters," Eliot said. "But I don't know which ones are magical and which aren't."

"I can assist with that, Mr. Spencer," Jenkins said.

"Thanks," Eliot said. "I'll get a copy of that list for you." He stood and made his way past the others.

Jacob looked up when his twin's hand landed on his shoulder. Eliot slid his gaze toward the bar and Jacob nodded. Eliot continued on his way, and Jacob refocused on the conversations at the table.

Flynn, of course, had leaned toward Eve and was talking quietly but with obvious excitement. Jacob couldn't make out what he was saying, but he'd guess it had to do with the Serpent Brotherhood.

Ezekiel was staring dubiously at his brew, occasionally nodding to something Cassandra said - something to do with math and magic that Jacob didn't care to try to follow.

Jenkins - Jacob blinked when his scrutiny landed on Jenkins. The other man's expression was serious, grave in a way Jacob didn't recall seeing it before. Jacob felt his spine straightening, couldn't look away from the other man's gaze.

Then Jenkins nodded, once, and turned to answer a question from Flynn. Jacob shook off the odd feeling that had gripped him under that gaze, of being judged and accepted, and more, of approval.

But who was Jenkins to approve of him, even to judge him in the first place?

"Oh, my God." The awed exclamation came from behind Jacob, and he turned in his seat to see Alec Hardison staring at the gathering - more accurately, at Flynn. "You're the Librarian, right? _The_ Librarian?"

Flynn looked up from his conversation with Eve, startled, but recovered quickly and smiled at the other man. "Flynn Carsen. Pleasure to meet you."

"Alec Hardison."

The name made Ezekiel start. "Wait - Alec Hardison?" He turned to Jacob, his expression caught between astonishment and betrayal. "You know Parker _and_ Alec Hardison, and you didn't tell me?"

There was no need to answer, because Ezekiel was already standing to introduce himself and the others.

"I'll get another round," Jacob murmured. Nobody paid attention.

Eliot had taken up residence behind the bar, and looked up when Jacob approached.

"We good?" Eliot asked.

"Yeah," Jacob replied. Eliot gave him a skeptical expression, and his mouth twisted in a wry grin. "I'm more surprised than angry."

"That I did it?"

"That she figured out we're twins. That she asked you. I said I was getting another round."

"Doubt they heard you over Hardison," Eliot observed. "Man can provide a hell of a distraction when he needs to."

"Why's he distracting them?"

"'Cause this decision is ours, whatever Carsen thinks."

"Decision?" Jacob frowned, not following Eliot's line of thought.

"What to do with the Brotherhood and their stuff," Eliot clarified. "You're the expert."

"I don't know I'd say that." Jacob had to be honest with his twin.

"More expert than me."

Jacob grinned. "Not setting the bar real high there, bro."

Eliot chuckled, but looked up at Jacob without replying. No, Jacob realized, Eliot was looking past him. He glanced over his shoulder to see Jenkins approaching.

"Mr. Hardison gave me your list," he said. "So I'll be on my way. The sooner we have the Brotherhood's magical artifacts stored in the Library, the safer we'll all be."

"Appreciate your help, Mr. Jenkins," Eliot said. "Mind if I ask a favor?"

Jenkins blinked, looking almost startled. "Within reason."

"Reasonable enough." Eliot pulled a slip of paper from his shirt pocket, offered it to Jenkins. "Pick two non-magical items and ship them to this address."

Jenkins took the paper, opened it. "Who's E. S. Quinn?"

"Quinn kept an eye on Dr. Collins while she was inventorying and authenticating the Brotherhood's stash," Eliot said. "The E. S. will let him know the package is from me."

"Eliot Spencer," Jenkins murmured. "Of course."

"And there's a spatha in the basement," Eliot added. "That one's mine."

"Are you a swordsman, Mr. Spencer?"

"More familiar with Eastern swords than Western," Eliot replied. "But it felt right in my hand."

A sick certainty settled in Jacob's awareness - that was the sword Eliot had used to kill Dulaque. Jacob couldn't say how he knew, but he was as certain of it as he was his own name. By his expression, Jenkins understood, too.

"I'll see that you get it," Jenkins said and turned to go. Then he stopped and turned back. "Just before we left the Annex, I had a delivery addressed to the Master of Benwick."

"Did you now?" Eliot sounded amused.

"From Dabra," Jenkins said.

Eliot snorted. "'Bout time he remembered."

"Remembered what, if you don't mind my asking?"

"The forty-two thousand dollars he owes me."

Jacob stared at his twin. "How can anyone owe you that much money?"

"I got a statue of the Buddha back for him," Eliot replied. "Gave him a discount because I was already in the area on another job."

Jacob wasn't certain how to react to that, and while he was deciding, Jenkins took his leave.

"Got a problem?" Eliot asked.

"Not a problem so much as trying to wrap my head around that much money," Jacob answered.

"You could have that much and more if we liquidated the Brotherhood's collection."

Jacob felt his eyes widening. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Maggie estimated the collection's worth at two million, conservatively."

"Conservatively," Jacob repeated, shaking his head. Then Eliot's words registered. "You thinking about selling it all off?"

"It's one possibility. There are others," Eliot added. "I introduced myself as Adam Sinclair. You could take them if you want - write papers about the collection."

#

Eliot watched the realization settle into Jake's expression. Realization, but not acceptance, not yet. He leaned forward, rested his forearms on the bar.

"I got a permanent gig that suits me," he said. "Seems like this might suit you - at least be a better fit than it is for me."

"I could turn it into a private research library," Jake said. "Let scholars study the artifacts and manuscripts that aren't magical." Then he paused, frowning.

"What?"

"What about the personnel?" Jake asked.

"There aren't many - mostly rent-a-cop types," Eliot said. "Keep them on as private security."

"But how'll I pay them? Admission to the collection wouldn't cover that much, probably."

"How was Dulaque paying them?" Eliot countered, and made a note to ask Hardison to check into that. "He had to have some capital. We'll track it down, and you'll be good to go."

Jake nodded, his expression thoughtful. "It could work."

"With both of us behind it? Of course it'll work," Eliot told him. "C'mon, let's get that second round. Even Hardison runs out of distractions sometimes."

But he hadn't tonight, Eliot realized as he and Jake brought drinks to the table - or else Parker's arrival had added a whole new level of distraction, enough to buy him and Jake time to talk.

"Thanks," he murmured first to her and then to Hardison as he handed them their drinks.

Flynn Carsen only looked up when the glass landed in front of him. "Ah, good. As fascinating as all this is, we still have to decide what to do with the Brotherhood."

"Decision's made," Eliot said, and found himself more amused than insulted when Carsen ignored him, focusing instead on Jake.

"This is … this is unprecedented," Carsen continued. "To have the Brotherhood and its assets available to the Library -"

"It's not." Jake cut him off with a tone that would've done a drill sergeant, let alone their father, proud. "The Brotherhood and its assets are Eliot's."

"Ours," Eliot corrected automatically.

"No, yours." Jake looked at him. "You're the elder, you inherit, not to mention you killed Dulaque. You're just letting me manage what's yours."

Eliot met his twin's gaze. "Not _just_."

Jake's lips twitched. "Fair enough." Then he turned back to Carsen. "Jenkins is there now, collecting whatever's magical. That's all going to the Library."

Carsen looked relieved, Eliot thought, if only for a moment. Then his eyebrows crashed together in a frown. "What about the rest of it? You said it's like a museum in there."

"It's going to be a museum," Jake answered. "A private collection."

"Does that mean I can't steal from it?" Parker asked.

Eliot chuckled. "Hell, no, Parker. We're counting on you to make sure the security systems are thief-proof."

"Hey!" Ezekiel exclaimed. "World-class thief here, and you're ignoring me?"

"World-class, sure," Eliot said easily. "But you're not Parker."

"She's cuter," Hardison observed.

"No, he's not Parker," Jake said, "and that's good. 'Cause I'm thinking you two each try to keep the other out."

"Like the computer companies that put lines in their code - if you're reading this, you're hired," Hardison said.

"Sure," Jake said, even though Eliot suspected his twin didn't understand Hardison any more than he did. "Two master thieves going at it, it'll be the most secure museum in the world."

Carsen looked thoughtful. "That's … a good idea, actually." Then he frowned once more. "What about the personnel? Lamia?"

"I'll handle Lamia," Eliot said. He'd put off dealing with her actions at the Conclave in favor of talking to Jake, but now he had to confront her, and this decision had to be a part of that discussion, too.

#

Eliot hadn't known what to expect when he knocked on the door of Lamia's hotel room, but her opening it in a cream-colored silky nightgown wasn't it. Neither was her too-blunt question:

"Are you here to kill me for betraying you?"

He recovered quickly from both the sight and the question. "You think I am?"

"You'd be within your rights to."

"Medieval rights, maybe, but this is the twenty-first century," Eliot said. "I'm just here to talk."

"You going soft?" The question might have a trace of venom, but Lamia turned away, leaving him to follow her or not.

He did, securing the door behind him from long habit before scanning the room - another long habit.

She'd gotten a suite, he saw, and was oddly relieved that she had. This was a conversation best had in private, but that didn't mean he wanted to, effectively, be in her bedroom for it.

"Why'd you try to eliminate the Library?" he asked.

She settled onto the sofa, her pose seductive but not, Eliot thought, calculatedly so. "It's the most efficient way to bring magic back into the world."

"Why?" Eliot took a seat in a chair opposite her.

"Why what?" Lamia countered, reaching for the glass of red wine sitting on the coffee table beside a book she'd apparently been reading. The book was face down, and from this angle Eliot couldn't read the title on the spine.

"Why bring magic back to the world? That's your goal, it was Dulaque's goal, but why do you want to do it at all? What do you gain from it?"

"Must I gain something from it?" Lamia sipped the wine.

Eliot grinned at her. "You don't strike me as the altruistic type, darlin'. But if you tell me the satisfaction of doing it is the gain, I'll at least consider that you're tellin' the truth."

Lamia stared at the wine in her glass, turning it in the light, for a long moment before she looked back at Eliot. "It is altruistic, in a way. It's the great equalizer."

Eliot cocked his head to one side, a wordless invitation for her to continue.

"When magic roamed the world, people were more equal," Lamia said. "You didn't have the vast differences in wealth that we have today, where some people starve and some people have so much they can't give it all away."

"People are different," Eliot had to point out. "And not just individuals – governments, religions, all of us. Expecting us all to be outwardly equal is short-sighted."

"I said _more_ equal." Lamia gave him a tight grin. "And I wasn't talking only about monetary wealth. When magic was common, anyone could access it and use it. Technology creates specialists of all kinds, and invests them with the same authority we used to give priests and kings. Or do you know how to build a nuclear reactor, or a solar energy plant?"

"You tellin' me that just anyone could create a spell that worked?" Eliot stood and crossed to the mini-bar, opened the fridge and selected a beer. Not for the first time, he was glad to live in Portland - even their hotels stocked more micro-brews than brand-name beers.

"Of course some were better at it than others. But everyone at least had the chance to use magic. The same can't be said for technology."

"That's not a failing of technology," Eliot said. "It's a failing of the people in charge. But let's assume you're right about that gain. What's lost?"

Lamia paused to stare at him, the glass halfway to her lips. "I beg your pardon?"

"Jake said that magic and technology can't coexist," Eliot said. "You bring back magic, you lose technology."

Lamia smiled. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It could be." Eliot took a swallow of his beer. "Lotta people depend on technology for their survival. Dialysis and chemotherapy at one extreme, basic water purification and power generation at the other - it's all technology, and losing any of it could cause thousands of deaths, maybe millions. You willing to do that?"

Lamia sat forward sharply, almost spilling her wine as a result. "No. No, that's not it at all."

Eliot took a long swallow of his beer. "You sure?"

"Dulaque said that magic would complement technology, that we could control the magic."

"He was going to kill you. Think he wouldn't lie to gain your trust? Your loyalty? Your love?"

Eliot watched Lamia sink back against the sofa, her expression slack with shock. Clearly she hadn't thought through the larger implications of Dulaque's presumed intentions. He hated to be the one to lay hard reality at her feet when she'd already been through a hard thing and was still, presumably, grieving it. But it had to be done and sooner than later, if only to keep her from some other misguided betrayal.

He sat silently, sipping his beer while he watched her expression shift from shock, to comprehension, and then to anger. Then she shifted, more a mental shift than a physical one, and he judged she was ready for words once again.

"I'm sorry." The words that came out of his mouth surprised him as much as they appeared to surprise her.

"Why?" Lamia asked - of course she did, and now he had to figure out why he'd said it. He must be going soft, if he were blurting like Hardison or Parker - only he knew he wasn't. He'd chosen not to be the man that he'd been before, but that didn't mean he was going soft.

"Because I've been there," Eliot said finally. "I've given my loyalty to someone who not only didn't deserve it, but twisted it - twisted _me_ \- into something terrible."

"You don't seem terrible to me."

"Not now, maybe," Eliot allowed, "but only because there was someone there to keep me from falling all the way down."

"You think I'm falling?"

"I think anyone could. Whether you do or not, that's your choice."

"Are you going to keep me from falling all the way down?"

Even if her tone was a little too serious, Lamia was trying to tease, to flirt, and Eliot took that as a good sign. He grinned at her and tilted his beer bottle in her direction. "Thinking you won't need it."

"If I don't, it's only because you caught me at the edge of the cliff." Now she wasn't even trying to tease. "Thank you."

Eliot met her gaze, nodded once.

Then she blew out a breath, and the moment shifted again. "I have no idea what to do now."

"Cooking helped me." It was more that a cook had helped him, but Eliot wasn't going into that kind of detail with her. He'd already said more than he'd planned.

Still, the admission made her chuckle, so he couldn't regret letting that bit of himself show.

"I'll consider it," she said, and reached for the bottle of wine to refill her glass. Her hand paused midway, and Eliot saw that she was staring at a tattoo circling her left bicep. It wasn't the usual circle of thorns, or even a Celtic knotwork pattern, he saw, but words in some language he couldn't make out.

"What's that say?" he asked.

" _Aestus cruentus adventus est et ubique carmen pudicitiae submersa est_. Or in English, And the blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned."

Eliot blinked once, twice. "Interesting choice."

She gave him a wry grin. "Ask your brother about it sometime."

"It have to do with you trying to kill him?" Eliot asked.

Her expression sobered. "I owe him an apology for that. At the time… I thought it was necessary."

Eliot translated that to mean she'd still been loyal, blindly so, to Dulaque at the time.

"I don't think he's holdin' a grudge."

"I hope not." She reached up to trace the words on her arm, then glanced at him. "Did you - when you realized you weren't falling all the way down - did you…"

Eliot understood. "I let my hair grow."

Most people would consider it a simple thing, just letting hair grow. But after so many years of keeping it short - first at his father's order, then the Army's, then Damien Moreau's - it had taken an act of will not to reach for scissors every morning to trim it back where it was _supposed_ to be.

"I'm thinking something a little more permanent," Lamia said. "Do you know any place in Portland I can have this removed?"

"We'll find a place, darlin'." It was a promise he'd gladly keep.

 **L ~ L ~ L ~ L ~ L**

And here ends the main story arc of the "Brothers" universe - at least for now. While I don't have a big story in mind, there are a couple of one-off shorts percolating in the back of my head, and I'll get to those when I can - hopefully not too long, but between the holidays and a minor shoulder injury, I won't make any promises. Thanks for coming along for this ride with me!


End file.
